


Some Things Never Change

by The_End_Of_All_Things



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Deaf Tubbo, Disabled Character, Family Dynamics, Fluff, Futuristic, Hurt/Comfort, Sleepy Bois Inc Angst, Sleepy Bois Inc Fluff, Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, cuz why not, diner au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29953503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_End_Of_All_Things/pseuds/The_End_Of_All_Things
Summary: “The hum of the hall slowly becomes dimmer and dimmer, until finally a long-dreaded ‘ding!’ sounds overhead, far too cheery for the pain it brings. He watches Tubbo tense and feels himself do the same, forcing one last grin before he stands.”Tommy isn’t the same kid he was when he entered the compound, and he’s not quite sure who he is now that’s he’s left it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson, Tubbo & Tommyinnit, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Will be taken down if CCs find it. First chapter was written for a class, then edited for this fic. Let me know any direction you might want it to be taken, hope you like it!

Every day Phil gets up at 6:30. When the sun first begins its ascension to the sky, Phil touches a socked foot to the ground and begins his morning routine. He stretches to his full height, stifling an early morning yawn and cracks his window open. The honeydew voices of his feathered friends drifts into his ears as they start anew their continued call, and he can’t help but mimic the melodic sound in a soft hum. His home is an old one, sticking out sharply in a sea of technological marvels and sleek building designs. Call him old-fashioned, but of all the places he’s been and the sights he’s seen, no place has ever felt quite as much like home.

Every day Phil gets dressed and quietly pads by two slumbering teenagers’ bedrooms to the kitchen. The sleek stove warms as he chops vegetables, the microwave timer dings to the smell of fast-cooked bacon. He cracks eggs with the practice of a man who’s done it a thousand times before, a broken yolk nonexistent in their cozy wooded home. Time and again his omelette recipe has been praised by friends and strangers alike traveling through their busy town, and while he scarcely hears the same praise from his two sons he can see by the looks on their faces that they will never get tired of them.

Every day he hears faintly over the sizzle of a frying pan the obnoxious beeps of a screeching alarm clock, breaking the quiet peace that had settled over the abode. The peace would be gone until late into the next night, but Phil much prefers the chaos that his family brings. Not a minute later a disgruntled yell of “shut that thing up!” could be heard from the opposing room as the sounds dies abruptly and Phil’s pink-haired son emerges from his cave. Technoblade barges straight into his brother’s room and drags a half-asleep Wilbur out of his illusioned peace and into the aromatic kitchen.

Every day the two plop themselves down at the breakfast bar, and they all begin to discuss their evenings. Phil tends to work late into the night, and while the brothers don’t like to encourage it, they can’t help but tell their father all about their adventures and listen to his own. Technoblade will tell of a foe he defeated, and Phil loves to pretend that he means in the state-of-the-art android scrimmage training facility rather than the streetfighting group that he knows his son is involved in. Wilbur, on the other hand, discusses new music with automated synthesizers he’s creating and his grades in school. While he is proud of both of his sons equally, one of them makes it a lot easier of a notion. Phil will tell them about his night at his diner, any odd customers or employee drama. They’ll discuss the recent craze over food amalgamators, and lament over how it will never be the same as a home-cooked meal. The boys finish eating, and quickly head off to their rooms to get changed and packed for school. Phil sends them off with a wave and they boys walk down the street side-by-side until they're out of sight.

Phil’s day ends there, and he goes back to bed, only to begin it again at 3:30. He grabs his keys and his phone. The family car is nothing special, Phil cannot bring himself to trust new technology. A beat up old Honda that still has wheels (rather than the fancy new hovering cars his customers have been raving about,) rolls out onto the street, and he makes the long drive into and across town until he gets to Phil’s Diner. His favorite manager (although he’s not supposed to have one), Ranboo, has already unlocked the store early that morning and the diner runs smoothly and simply for a large part of the day. Some might call it a relic in a town where everything is always looking more and more futuristic and advanced, but it is what he believes continues to coax people inside. Phil places the fresh set of harder-and-harder-to-find newspapers on the counter and grimaces at the headline. “ILLEGAL ROBOTICS LAB DISCOVERED EXPERIMENTING ON MINORS OUTSIDE CITY LIMITS, EFFECTS YET UNKNOWN.” He can’t help but shudder at the thought. Can’t help but imagine his own sons in that position, the idea like a punch to the gut. People may always do horrible things, but technology was making them much more creative.

The stream of customers is steady, and the scent from the kitchen steadily changes from pancake mix to grilled panini’s to roasted steaks and cooked fish. At around 6:00 in the evening, long after Ranboo has left for the day, Technoblade and Wilbur will make their way through the glass door, ornate bell tinkling softly to signify their arrival. Occasionally the two will take a shift at the diner, but it is much less common. He’ll take his dinner break and sit down with them, and one by one go over their days just as they had in the early morning. Phil’s break will end, and Wilbur and Technoblade will say their goodbyes and head on their separate ways. Technoblade, who had taken a liking to Ranboo, often goes to the aforementioned boy’s house to mentor him in the ways of fast combat. Wilbur often drifts between people and places, but more often than not can be found with his friend Nikki.

For the most part, this is where Phil considers his day to end. Even though he has eight hours of his shift left, nothing overly exciting, or incredibly dramatic, or even slightly entertaining arises for the rest of his day. He hadn’t expected the blazing wrench that Tommy was to be thrown fiercely into the well-oiled machine that was his routine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plotted out the rest of the book last night and ended up making some minor changes to the first chapter. The chapters should start to get longer since the introduction is done, but I’ve decided that posting more frequently with shorter chapters is easier spatially for my head. Enjoy!

Every day Tommy gets up at 4:30. Long before the sun has begun to rise, a feral, screeching alarm pounds at his ears and shocks every fiber of his being into a hyper-alert consciousness. He wastes no time in throwing himself out of his nailed-down bed and stumbling across the dimly lit concrete floor to frantically slap the angry red button, cutting the noise short and allowing blessed silence to mix with the fluorescent lights. Turning back as the tension bleeds out of his shoulders, he glances at the other bed adjacent to his in the small room. The lump hidden beneath its thin blanket slowly begins to stir. He gives a soft huff that is somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, crossing the short distance to give the mound a quick shake on the shoulder. A groan floats up at him, and the blanket is whipped off to reveal his unamused roommate.

Every day Tommy greets his best and only friend, Tubbo, by yanking the rest of the blanket off the bed. ‘Rise and shine!’ Tommy signs, giving Tubbo a grin as he prevents him from disappearing back underneath the covers. Tubbo rolls his eyes, finally sitting up and letting out a yawn. Tommy ruffles his hair before heading toward the unlocked metal door, grabbing the giant handle and heaving it, the heavy door sliding open and into the wall with a bang. Sitting just outside their room are two jumpsuits, one in a deep red and one a forest green. Grabbing both, he quickly shuts the door again. (He knows that there are cameras in every room, but he likes to pretend that it gives him privacy.) He tosses the red at the boy still in bed, giggling slightly when it hits him in the head with a soft thump. Tubbo jerks up sharply as he refocuses on Tommy, flipping him off when he notices the other boy cackling. 

Every day Tommy gets changed and walks down the long and narrow hallway, watching the guards warily as he enters the mess hall. They never make eye contact, but Tommy feels them surveying the others in the compound as he passes by. Tubbo trails behind him, close enough to step on his heels. The two quickly walk across the room towards the food amalgamator set up haphazardly in the corner. They’re always one of the last to make it into the dining room, as is any pair with a red amongst them. 

They don’t have to wait long before the step up to the hissing machine, pressing the dull grey button and watching as bran mush oozes out and plops into a bowl. Tommy hands both bowls he makes to Tubbo before asking, ‘juice?’ The other nods once, and once their breakfasts are secured they find empty seats and sit opposite each other. Small talk passes back and forth as the hum of the hall slowly becomes dimmer and dimmer, until finally a long-dreaded ‘ding!’ sounds overhead, far too cheery for the pain it brings. He watches Tubbo tense and feels himself do the same, forcing himself to give the other one last grin before he stands. The hall has quickly divided into four sections, red, orange, yellow, and green. He steps into his line.

For the most part, this is where Tommy considers his day to end. Even though his day has only just begun, nothing remotely normal, nor good, nor even slightly okay arises for the rest of the day. 

He follows the greens down another hallway off of the mess hall, leading to seven different rooms, six of the exact same size, content, and layout. One by one, the small forest of boys dwindles down until it is just Tommy, alone in his room at the end of the hallway. It is bigger than the rest. Scarier, more dangerous. Tommy hates it. He used to have a spot in one of the small rooms, back before he had “promise.” It used to change around a lot, bouncing back and forth between the greens, but Tommy has been the sole proprietor for months now with no end in sight. 

Technology had made a lot of people’s lives easier, but it had made his so much worse. After the invention of xenobots the world had spiraled hard, devolving into a mad dash for creating the next “superhuman.” It had been short-lived, admittedly, as everything fell short of creating a conscious being. Some people hadn’t given up hope.

Those “some people” were the ones currently strapping him down to the dentist chair in the middle of the blinding-white room, a new set of torture instruments tinkling as a woman in a white lab coat put them carefully in a row. Every fiber of his being, synthetic and human, screamed in protest. He tamped it down, though. It had been years, but his stubborn brain refused to let him sit passively and be submissive in the illegal alteration of his walking corpse. He turned to the woman with a pleasant face, folding his hands in his lap as best he could.

“What toys do you have for me today, Dr. O'Donnell? Super speed? Oops, already tried that. Super strength? Nope, got that one too. Super healing? Oh, wait, that’s more Tubbo’s shtick isn’t it? You know what, I could really use a shave if you’re offering. A big man such as m-”  
The woman cut his rambling off before he’d even had a proper chance to get started. “Vision enhancement. The subject will be given the treatment, tomorrow a series of tests will need to be run in order to determine the efficacy of the surgery.” Tommy let out a sigh at that, trying not to let it show the fear he’d masked behind it. How the hell was he supposed to talk to Tubbo if these dumb fucks screwed his eyes up?

“Y’know, Doc, my name is actually Tommy. I haven’t said anything till now, it's kinda awkward after such a long time, but I feel like we’ve gotten to know each other so intimately, might as well know my real name. Maybe one day you’ll give me your real name, then I won’t have to keep making one up every time I come in here. I’m getting pretty low on the list, if I’m being honest. Might need to move into the b-” He’s cut off by the seat suddenly dropping out, laying him out flat as the doctor approaches with a mask.  


It’s gotten near impossible to keep the panic off of his face as he watches the Nitrous Oxide come closer and closer to his face. “Now wait, let’s just talk about this! Who even needs to see better. My vision was 20/20 when I went to the nurse in first grade! Who needs to see better than-” For the final time his words were cut short as the mask was secured and his thoughts became jumbled, having no choice but to give in and fade away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4’s about half done! I can’t promise much for my upload schedule but on the weekends I won’t be able to do a lot and it seems a chapter a day Mon-Thurs at around 6 (PST) is about my schedule. Enjoy!

The wind howled outside the cozy diner, biting at the lights flooding the otherwise shadowed streets. They may have cured the common cold, but nothing could stop the weather as it ripped through the city. Wilbur can’t help but wince at the people rushing past in nothing but a t-shirt. 

It had been a beautiful day when he’d first stepped into the shop, the sun had been shining and not a cloud could be seen on the horizon. It seemed as though whatever deity had been put in charge of controlling the weather changed their minds halfway through the day, though, and now he had to deal with grumbling customers whining about the cold.

The diner certainly hadn’t been his first pick for where to spend his Thursday evening, but Phil had a meeting with Technoblade’s parole officer, and the aforementioned twin was currently at his robot-fight-lessons. Or his street-fighter-lessons. If he was being honest, Wilbur couldn’t keep up. All he knew was that Techno was never where he needed to be, so it was a safe bet that he was doing the opposite of whatever he had told Phil he was doing. Wil had tried being rebellious once, it lasted all the way to the piercing parlor before he remembered that nose rings were, in fact, permanent, and he was not ready for that kind of commitment. Technoblade got his ear pierced instead.

Needless to say, this is why Wilbur found himself covering his brother’s shift as he waited as patiently as possible for him to come bursting through the door. He leaned against the counter next to the register, a motion he’d seen Phil do many times, and took a survey of the patrons.  
There was a man sitting at a booth near the window, looking as though he’d regretted his seating decision as he stared out the glum window. Not far off was a group of tween girls, hushed whispering cut short by the frequent, not-so-subtle glances in his direction. An elderly couple sat at the diner counter, small talk a long-lost concept to people so familiar with each other.

It was definitely a slower night, not that Wilbur minded. The diner was often packed unusually full for the hole-in-the-wall it was, places like it becoming fewer and further between. People enjoyed having a space to get away from all the new gadgets that they didn’t fully understand, even if they did make life more convenient. His dad had made sure that there wasn’t any technology past 1990 to be found in the vicinity. The safety and security system safely tucked inside the wall was the latest and greatest, but if it was in the room it was old technology. A few of the buttons were missing and one of the slots rusted shut on the cash registers. Wilbur was surprised the thing still worked. 

He slumped forward, burying his hands in the hair that he had tucked behind his beanie. He’d been up late the night before, working on homework till the early morning, and finishing a song he’d been struggling to wrap up with a sudden spark of inspiration. He felt himself waning fast, pulling his head out of his palms to glance at the clock.

Techno was officially late.

His hand went to his back pocket, ready to write a strongly worded text to Techno when the bell above the door chimed. Relief flew through him, looking excitedly to the door for a familiar pink-haired party. 

He looked up, and the relief he’d felt vanished when he realized that the person entering the diner was not his brother and instead a man with a clip on tie and a briefcase clasped tightly in his hand. He looked rather worse for wear, though Wilbur could hardly blame him considering the state of the city flying by outside. He was definitely out of place in the building. His face was round and his eyes tired. While his suit was obviously fairly inexpensive, it had all of the principle components of an up-town officeman. The slightly pointed shoulders, odd tailcoats that feel out of place on the synthetic material, the purposefully crooked jacket lining. Maybe he sounds too much like his father, but he would never understand why this passed for fashion. 

The man wasted little time in walking up to the counter. Wilbur got the impression that he wasn’t here to buy a warm meal, but feigned innocence as he faced the man head on.

“Hello, welcome to Phil’s Diner. What can I get started for ya?” It was the mantra he’d chanted every day since he’d started working, a perfect blend of friendliness and impersonality that was practically a family staple.

The man looked taken aback, as though he wasn’t the one who entered the diner and Wilbur had snuck up on him with an unwarranted question. He recovered quickly, though, clearing his throat before leveling Wilbur with a serious look. “I’m not here to eat. I was wondering if I might be able to speak to the manager of this establishment.”

Mentally preparing himself for the unpleasant conversation he knew he was about to have, he plastered on an even faker grin, “Well, sure. That’s me.” 

“Oh…” The man paused, clearly not having been prepared for dealing with a kid. His entire demeanor changed, and he hunched over just slightly as if he was talking to a small child. “I need to get in contact with the owner. Do you think you could help me out with that, kid?” Wilbur had to physically restrain himself from going full-Techno at the man’s condescending attitude.

“Phil’s a busy man. We don’t really do solicitors here, so whatever you’re selling, I can assure you we won’t be buying. Thank you for coming in, though, and feel free to come back for some great food anytime.”

The man didn’t seem too pleased with that answer. “Look, he’s a hard man to reach. We have a very exciting, and if I’m being frank with you very hefty, offer for him. This part of town has been deemed “up and coming” and who knows how long it’ll last. This could be the best offer this du-” The man had clearly forgotten himself, pausing to regain composure. Wilbur really wished that he didn’t have as much restraint as his hot-headed brother. “This establishment, sees for a while.”

“Listen, sir, I don’t wanna waste your time.” (“As much as you’ve already wasted mine” was left tucked away in his thoughts.) “My dad isn’t gonna sell. He would at least consult me and my brother first, and I guarantee you that his answer would correspond with mine, which I can assume you’ve already guessed is in the negative. You can see yourself out, but for now I have tables to wait.”

He slipped out of the counter and past the slightly dumbfounded man, watching out of the corner of his eye as he straightened and walked quickly back out the door. He cleared the plates for the young girls in a booth, taking their dessert orders before dropping them off at the kitchen. Just as he was about to resume his position, his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out, relieved and annoyed in equal measures to see that it was a text from Techno.

One word only, in all caps.

HELP

“Oho, you b-”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot that some people don't know what xenobots are! Part organic and part synthetic robots made with the stem cells of a frog and combined with AI. A few tweaks have been made to fit my narrative better, but the premise is sorta the same. They were mentioned in Chapter 2 and were meant to describe in a vague way how the alterations worked, so I could go into it on a deeper level later on.  
> Also, there are currently two separate narratives that switch off every chapter. They're going to join together soon, but for now, it is to familiarize people with the two different settings.

Tommy awoke with a start. To see absolutely nothing. “Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me.” He heard a quiet, tired laugh from somewhere to his right, and hastily grabbed at the wrap around his eyes. He tore it off quickly, eyes screaming in protest as light overwhelmed him. It was horrible. He could see every single scratch on the floor, every fiber in his shitty sheet, every blink in the fluorescent lights with startling clarity. 

But he could see.

He looked over to Tubbo, having to adjust slightly before he was able to see the dopey smile on the other’s face. He was sitting up on his bed, splayed out against the wall as he waited for Tommy to wake up. ‘You look like shit.’ Tubbo signed, giggling at the affronted look Tommy gave him.

‘I’ll have you know you don’t look much better, Big T.’ He threw back. It was painful how true the words were. Tubbo had bags underneath his eyes, and with Tommy’s recently heightened abilities he could see plain as day the tremor in the boy’s hands from the effort of holding them up. His vision became blurry as he tried to focus on the fresh stitches that ran along his friend’s arm and behind his head, and he had to close his eyes against the onslaught of stimulation.

When he was finally capable of opening them again, it was to the image of Tubbo staring at him, concern written clearly on his face. Tommy waved him off before he had the chance to comment on it, careful not to rub his eyes as he stood up and stretched. ‘Did I miss dinner?’  


Tubbo shook his head. ‘Door should be opening in five or so. Are you sure you’re good to go eat?’ Tommy nodded, continuing to re-energize himself after his day-long, drug-induced nap. 

A familiar chime rang overhead, and Tommy heard the smooth metal lock sliding out of place to set them free for dinner. He turned back to the other boy just in time to see his pitiful attempt to get out of bed. It was almost comical. Any attempt at pushing himself away from the rickety slab ended with him slouched even further down, and by his third attempt he looked miserable. ‘I suppose I should have asked you the same question.’ He raised his eyebrows at the boy, clearly unimpressed. Tubbo brushed him off with a shake of his head and roll of his eyes. 

‘Us reds always land on our feet, I wouldn’t expect a green to understand.’ With one final push, (that clearly cost him the last of his energy,) Tubbo shakily got to his feet. Tommy felt himself desperate to break the compound’s strict no-touching-in-the-halls rule as he watched Tubbo sway drastically on his feet. 

He knew it wouldn’t help anything.

Instead, he let Tubbo walk out first, following at an agonizingly slow pace. 

He found himself slowly growing accustomed to the foreign sensitivity. Pain still ebbed behind his eyes like a thunderstorm, but it was bearable. Not the worst feeling he had come to know.

Tubbo stumbled slightly just ahead of him, and it was enough to bring Tommy’s mind back into a sharp focus. His hands reached out of their own accord, not touching but hovering as close as possible as the other boy righted himself. The guards tense like poorly trained police dogs who have never seen action. Tommy prepares for the worst. 

If needed, he could probably get the stupid bitch out of his arm that disables his stronger Alterations, taking out at least those in the immediate vicinity. It would prevent them from hurting Tubbo, and all the attention would shift to him.

The moment passes, though, as Tubbo regains his composure and crosses the threshold to the mess hall. Tommy drops his hands. He gives one last lingering glance over his shoulder, but when nothing seems amiss catches up the few feet that Tubbo has progressed without him.

‘Nice one,’ Tommy knew that the action was practically subconscious with the way Tubbo’s eyes had glazed over, but he appreciated the attempt at normalcy. He doesn’t bother responding, grabbing both of their meals and settling down at their usual table. He takes a bite of the bland concoction, watching Tubbo do the same as he finished his bite.

‘Anything new?’

It was a blanket statement, one that was a fallback around the compound. A question that was casual enough to brush off, but an obvious extended olive branch. 

Tubbo shrugged. ‘Same old.’

He sighed. Stupid fucking reparitive surgery. How many times could you open and close the same kid’s internal organs?

Before he had the chance to go on a long winded rant, a red and an orange collapsed into the seats next to them. They usually sat together at dinner, and he had gotten to know them as Skeppy and Bad. Tommy would call them acquaintances, even if not friends. People tended to keep to their roommates. 

He turned to acknowledge them as they sat down. “Hey, guys.” He addresses the orange, Skeppy, with a smirk. “How’s the mental voodoo working out for ya, Skeppy? Can you move stuff with your mind ‘n shit yet?”

“Language!” Came the automatic reply from Bad. 

Skeppy rolled his eyes, though who it was directed at he couldn’t really be sure. “I’m not a witch, Tommy. And s’alright. The doc’s runnin’ out of new shit to give me, though. They’re startin’ to cycle through. You remember that failed experiment, electroshock therapy to a part-synthetic brain, see if it can make you learn somethin’?”Tommy grimaces. “Yeah, that’s the one. Figured they’d try it again, I guess. Tomorrow’s the big day. What about you, got slightly better hearing? Marginally increased flexibility?”

Tommy chuckled. “Nowhere close, hate to break it to you. Thanks to incredible advances in modern technology, I can see how huge your pores are from all the way over here.” Tubbo, who had been watching carefully, snorted.

‘Lay off, you just can’t handle how little being a green actually gets you.’

He narrows his eyes slightly. ‘I’m basically a superhero, you’re just jealous.’ He turns back to the others. “Tubbo agrees with me, you got an unfortunate draw in your gene pool, my friend.” He chooses to ignore the sound of indignation that Tubbo makes.

Skeppy glares at Tommy. “I know my boy Tubbo would never do me like that, Tommy. Stop lyin’.” 

He turns to Tubbo theatrically, “Psychic,” he whispers, eyes wide. Everyone but Skeppy lets out a laugh, immediately quieting when others begin to stare. “How ‘bout you Bad? Anything new to report?” 

He shrugged. “I get the same feeling as Skeppy, honestly. Feels like they’re starting to run out of stuff to throw at us. Big changes are coming.” 

The group quieted at that, the fear of the unknown lingering heavily over the once pleasant conversation. Skeppy and Bad exchanged an unreadable glance. Tubbo looked white as a sheet all of a sudden, but Tommy knew that he would brush him off if he dared to mention it.

He took another bite of his food, chewing slowly. If they truly were running out of experiments in the areas prescribed to each color, the effects could be disastrous. The only logical next step was taking the superhumans they had built and using them. The thought causes a chill to run up his spine. 

Being used as a weapon was something they all had been aware was a possibility, but it seemed more like a reality than it ever had in the past. Not to mention he hadn’t been out of the compound in four years. It was uncharted territory on so many levels, he couldn’t imagine leaving, much less not of his own accord.

While the assumption had grown weaker and weaker as the years went on, he’d always believed that someone would find them. Even now he still held that hope, although it was barely hanging on for its life.

He realized he’d zoned out of the conversation around him, and tuned back into Skeppy and Bad’s conversation. They were arguing about who had the more comfortable bed, a topic that Tommy couldn’t say he had any interest in or opinion of, so he ignored it in favor of turning to Tubbo. He had spaced out just as Tommy had, but not even a wave in front of his face was enough to bring him back into the conversation. 

He frowned. Nothing felt too out of the ordinary. The food tasted awful, as usual. The white lights beat down on the cluster of teenagers, as usual. Even Skeppy and Bad were arguing, as usual. Nothing seemed amiss, so Tommy knew that Tubbo’s day had been worse than he’d let on. 

He is just about to bring up the fact when Tubbo’s eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a kudos and comment if you enjoy, it makes my day <3


End file.
